Oliver: It Is His Time
by Sentimentalthoughts
Summary: This is a possible scenario involving Oliver on the afternoon of the chapel scene in LWY. The characters and the inspiration belong to the incredible Martha Williamson.


Oliver O'Toole sat quietly next to his dad's bedside. In the hospital vernacular, his dad was "resting comfortably." Truth be told, Joe was sound asleep. Oliver didn't have to be there. He wanted to be there. When he said that there had been enough leaving, he meant it. So he went to Joe's house, hurriedly showered, changed, and drove his car back to Grace Memorial to be with his dad.

Shane had dropped him off at his dad's house before returning to Denver. During the drive he learned of the details of his Postables' search and rescue mission. He was amazed and amused by Norman's bold gestures - going to Las Vegas with Rita; of consuming too many enchiladas; of buying the rescue dog; of Shane spending much of Saturday and Sunday sniffing cologne – to no avail.

He heard about Shane going to his dad's house in search of him when he didn't return on Monday. When she produced the house key for him from her purse he couldn't help but laugh. His hacker could not only get into someone else's computer but also could get into someone else's home. He jokingly asked her if she were one of Norman's cousins. They both laughed. It was good to laugh – especially with Shane.

He told her that his dad had tripped when they ventured off the main trail. He really didn't want to talk further at this time about the last 48 hours. They both agreed that there was much more they wanted to share, personal and deep, but not right now. It wasn't the time. The most important truth had been shared in the chapel. When they arrived at Joe's house, Oliver reached over the car's console, squeezed her hand, and told her that he would call her tomorrow. He heard the reply for which he hoped, "Good, I will look forward to it."

Why did riding in the car with her seem so different? They had ridden together many times before today. This time there was a deep peace between them – no striving to withhold feelings, no striving to convey them – just peace. Only a few hours had passed since and he realized that he missed her already.

For too long missing someone meant only pain for Oliver. He knew the hurt of missing his mother. He knew the sting when Mother's Day rolled around and he, as a young boy, went to Sunday school and had to make a card or paint a pot for a mother who would not great him after church. He knew what it meant to drop his head and avoid eye contact with the schoolteacher, when asked if anyone's mom could volunteer to chaperone the field trip or be the grade mother. He knew the pain of her absence at birthdays and graduations. To miss someone meant to hurt.

He knew the piercing pain of being abandoned by his wife – seemingly out of the blue, in a museum of all places; the shocking numbness of having the airplane seat next to him empty on a return flight from D.C. to Denver. He knew the lonely ache of looking at the vacant pillow beside him when he went to bed at night and of wondering if she would ever return. To miss his wife meant to feel rejected and alone. So he guarded his heart against even the risk of missing someone.

But today, sitting in a turquoise, vinyl-covered hospital chair, to miss Shane McInerny felt good. This afternoon to miss someone means to anticipate seeing them, to think about every moment you want to experience with them again and again, to have hope, to long for someone who longs for you. To miss someone is to hear music when none is playing, to remember the scent of her perfume when she isn't in the room, to find yourself smiling at the very thought of her. To miss her is to relish in the thought of her. And so he sat quietly and simply missed her.

He missed her smile- her wry smile when she pushed the envelope, got her way, and helped solve the case; that big smile when she saw dreams fulfilled and lives united over the successful delivery of a lost letter; that warm smile that radiated from across the room and invited him, only him to dance with her. The smile that lit up the DLO with energy and determination had gradually pushed away the wintery cloud of hurt that hung over him. The warmth of her smile thawed his frozen life.

He looked forward to seeing her sparkling, expressive blue eyes. He thought of all those times their eyes had met and for a second he had been lost in them only to turn away. He thought of the times he had seen those eyes puddle with tears – sometimes for him, sometimes because of him. Even her tears had been redemptive in washing away the pain of his past. As he wiped an unexpected tear from his own cheek he thought, if there were tears shed by her, from now on he would be the one to wipe them away and not the cause of them.

Yes, missing Shane McInerny felt good. It felt right. It meant looking forward to calling her tomorrow, looking forward to seeing her at work, looking forward to planning yet again their first date. Missing her felt like he had hope and a future.

As Oliver continued to sit at his dad's bedside, he noticed the rays of the setting sun coming through the hospital window. It reminded him of how the sunlight, when it came through the window at the DLO, reflected off her blonde hair– and how it felt when her hair brushed his face as they danced. These were places he had not previously allowed his thoughts to go. Now he would embrace every thought of her as he longed to embrace her. To everything there is a season – a time to dance and it was their time; a time to embrace and it was their time; a time to love and it was their time; a time to heal – and Oliver O'Toole felt whole.


End file.
